One Friend
by Wayoming
Summary: My first thrust into Sherlock fic writing, so be gentle! Basically a small idea of what Sherlock's thoughts might have been from the conversation in the restaurant in "A Study in Pink" to when they arrive back in Baker Street. R&R appreciated :D
1. Chapter 1

**OKAY: So I've been reading a lot of **_**Sherlock **_**fics recently… But I've not written one as of yet…**

**I'd like to…**

**So I might give it a go right here…**

**Not sure what it'll be like yet…**

**But here goooooooes :D**

**I trolled the meme site and saw this, so I might try it for a start, a one-shot ****:**

So everyone knows the scene in the cafe/resturant place - when John's like "Girlfriend...boyfriend...?" and Sherlock's just like "...I'm married to my work."

Yeah? Good. I think we definatly need a fic based on Sherlock's thought in that conversation - cos he clearly wasn't thinking what he was saying. XD

**Non-slash, fluffy inside Sherlock's head **

**Wish me luck :P**

**x**

One Friend

**Sherlock POV:**

I had said I was married to my work. Not untrue. Not entirely true however. I've never been one to advocate small-talk and superfluous conversations, but I felt the need to justify myself to John.

I wasn't sure why this man who had just wandered into my life suddenly encouraged such confidence. But there was something about him, a sort of quiet confidence that belied the hardened soldier his physical appearance gave the impression of, and an approachable air. It was quite bizarre.

Not even I would have envisioned myself moving in with a man I had met the day before, but something felt right about John. And now, _well. _Now he was becoming almost indispensible.

No, I am married to my work in the sense that there's not been anyone else to detract from my work. The last time caused a little more trouble than I was willing to deal with. And after that, there really wasn't anyone else that interested me.

All normal. Excitable. Boring. _Dull._

But John. There was something to his type of mundane, something new.

I watch people every day. It's part of my job. It _is _my job. And knowing people as I do I knew that John was in awe of my deductive prowess, but it's something more than that that's keeping him with me, I'm sure.

It's the danger, the thrill, the thought that he might die. _All because he's with me._

Not that I'm going to let John die.

I noticed his watching me, and resolutely stared out of the window, keeping my eyes on the vehicles passing. I felt my eyes flicker to his face as our plates were removed. So careworn, so stern almost, contrasted with the boy-ish features. Yes, John's face is yet another thing that makes him different. He's not as young as he once was, true. But he doesn't have the ragged features of a misspent youth, more the gentle aging you find in kindly fictional characters. Distinction. That's the what I'd describe it as.

I caught myself and reminded that there was more to hand than merely watching John, analysing his presence. But running through the streets of London, calling directions to my constant companion, and the camaraderie… The awareness of him just being there, just knowing he was behind me, following my every move, it was comforting. It was closer to having a friend than I'd come in a long time. John didn't seem to judge me.

Not even when I got things wrong. As I had now. Not even when he realised I had stolen from Lestrade. Not even when we were running once more through the backstreets pursued by officers merely doing their job. John had taken to my reckless way of life with considerable ease.

And the fact that we now stood in the corridor of 221 Baker Street, the place we now called home, laughing breathlessly, hardly aware of our own luck, meant one thing to me.

I didn't want to lose John Watson, not now, not ever.

**Well there you have it, my first foruay into the **_**Sherlock **_**fandom.**

**Reviews are most welcome, because if this isn't good then I'd rather know and stop. **

**Thanks for reading **

**Wayoming **

**x**


	2. Chapter 2

**Oh my I am a review whore aren't I?**

**Literally hours after publishing yesterday I got the most encouraging review from the wonderful callensensei saying wonderful things like:**

Oh, no, don't stop! Write some more!

**And:**

All of Sherlock's finely nuanced about John Watson (and particularly Martin Freeman's John Watson) show keen insight into both characters. I could almost hear Cumberbatch's clipped tones here.

**Oh and:**

Care to do one from the other side, where John observes Sherlock in the same scene? I'd love to see it!

**Which of course means that I've written one from John's perspective now, because I really can't say no to someone who likes my work :P**

**Many thanks for all the people who have also favourited this story **** Makes me happy :D**

**Now, to try and conquer John's perspective…**

**(PS: I disclaim any of the BBC/ACD Sherlock Holmes characters and storylines, I'm just borrowing ****)**

JOHN POV:

I felt the embarrassment well up in me. I had broached the subject casually,

"People don't have arch enemies." Because it's true, they don't. But something about the man sat so stiffly before me made me think that perhaps Sherlock Holmes is just the sort of character to have arch enemies. It's not as if he leads a particularly normal life.

But it was the question that followed that threw me. _Real_ lives?

I had once said that "Nothing happens to me." And that was my normal life. I'd come home from Afghanistan to a live less fulfilling and _normal _than I had before. I'd joined up to escape from everything my life had been before. And I had, and now my placement having ended and being returned to England, it was true, I did miss it. And then there was Sherlock.

A stranger for all I knew about him, though quite clearly he'd deduced everything about me within seconds, a gift that unsettled me if I was honest. But there was something about him that made me trust him. Maybe it was his brains; he certainly seems to have enough of them. Or maybe it was the fact that he'd taken me on as readily as he had, not quite a friend, but still closer to one than anyone else I'd seen him come across. But possibly it was because of the danger surrounding him. I couldn't say. But one thing was certain, it wasn't going to be boring any time soon.

I mean, look at me! I'm sat, with a man I barely know, waiting for a serial killer to come knocking whilst polishing off dinner. It wasn't exactly what I'd thought life would be like, especially not at my age.

_Real _lives? Who honestly had a _real _life?

But I endevoured to answer

"Friends, people they know, people they like people they don't like," I paused and continued with my food, knowing how ridiculous the stereotypes seemed when applied to the strange youth before me, "girlfriends, boyfriends." And that's when I became embarrassed.

I knew how it must have come across, all these questions. And my rambling couldn't have helped matters. But how else was I supposed to find out about the man I'm living with, _investigating murders with_? It seemed important, but his response, almost as if trying to spare my feelings, surprised me. And the

"I think you should know I consider myself married to my work" did nothing to ease my discomfort at what the situation had become.

I was almost glad when Sherlock spotted a cabbie and rushed headlong out the door. I took a moment to follow him, but follow I did, rushing straight into busy city traffic, and off into the night. We ran through back-streets, over buildings, and I always kept Sherlock in sight.

I have no idea how Sherlock managed to keep up with the cab, nor how I managed to keep up with Sherlock, but catching the cab had done nothing. The man wasn't a suspect, but I couldn't blame Sherlock for thinking he was. And seeing officers begin to chase I felt the adrenaline rushing through me, a dull roar in my ears as I strove to follow the lanky detective, darting this way and that until we finally made it back to the safety of Baker Street.

Our easy laughter showed me a different side to the Sherlock I'd been living with these past days, a more human side, a more fallible side. And I liked it.

And that side smiled, and still managed to make me feel like a child doddering along in his wake, especially when Angelo knocked on the door and handed me my cane.

Bloody clever bugger.

**Okay, so I don't like it as much as the Sherlock POV but I hope I got the warmth I get from Freeman!Watson across, the sort of grudging fondness he seems to be developing for Sherlock? **

**IDK, please review, let me know if there's any particular storyline I could create for you? **

**Thanks for reading :D**

**Wayoming**

**x**


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